


A Witch's Worship

by Nimewrit



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Alternate Universe - Western, Blood and Injury, Changelings, Clerics, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Dungeons & Dragons References, F/F, Female Character of Color, Gen, Ghouls, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, Loose Interpretation of Dungeons & Dragons Rules, Magic, Necromancy, Paladins, Prayer, Religious Content, Small Towns, Spells & Enchantments, Supernatural Elements, Undead, Western, celestials, slow burn?, vague religious references, yeehaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26113033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimewrit/pseuds/Nimewrit
Summary: Set in a Old Western Town and its surrounding areas, this story explores two characters of vastly different lifestyles, to whatever connection and end that the world finds them.Supernatural events draw the local forest's witch and a new priest together, with varying motivating factors involved. A spiral of events forces their tenuous alliance to expand, involving a startling amount of forces that are not of their land. An exploration of conflicts both internal and external, some easier to handle than others.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Kudos: 1





	1. A Task Done Free

**Author's Note:**

> A somewhat self contained chapter, but the writing that got my mind initially set on this Universe/Concept at first and felt a sin to let dust away. Relya is a high fantasy Dungeons and Dragons character that felt interesting to involve in a setting such as this one. I have an outline on where I wish this to go, the tags reflecting that somewhat. I plan for this to function less as a single storyline, but instead as a series of smaller adventures that'll play a backdrop to their functioning together. 
> 
> Writing outside of outlines for my Tabletop campaigns(Or the rare single character scene) is uncommon for me, so apologies for any roughness with the writing. Still wrapping my head around writing alone in longer stretches of time, so it may be a bit inconsistent with updates, in the case that I manage to keep interest in Relya and Samael's story. Thank you to anyone who reads <3

A body shrouded by supernatural darkness graces the cold stone as the Witch moves, a simple hand gesture making her right hand's veins glow with red, spilling arcane energy that trails to a fireplace. A sudden ruby red flame illuminates her pale skin, dressed simply in an open vest and riding pants, face curtained by her black hair, messily splayed around her head without care. 

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A skitter of movement catches her attention, metal against the stone of the home, Relya giving it a hiss. "Out." She calls to it in a scolding, quiet tone, making a little kettle crawl out on three clumsy legs. "To the fire, hurry now." She commands it, rolling her eyes at the sad, slow motions of it gives, thrown into the flames and settling to boil. The sorceress fixes her vest to cover the tattoos that line her belly and chest, a lack of covering to her arms allowing the ancient. alien script to be shown there. 

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She sighs out comfort as she seats herself in the furred seat at her dining table, grasping a crust of bread, crushing until she can glance in the crumbs. They vibrate, shifting over a minute of silence, _Young Boy. Untouched by the Weave. Alone. _Is written, Relya giving a hum of interest, before nodding, the knuckle of her index finger glowing a greenish blue. "A payment." She hums, tapping the gathering of crumbs, turning the same ghostly tone of color, before disappearing entirely into the Ethereal.__

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__Relya moves to the room that functions as her bedroom, a messy array of discarded clothing and arcane implements, alongside a stack of crates that function as a wardrobe. "Presentable." She mutters to herself, eyes closing as she takes a deep breath, holding it. An image of her outfit is conjured in her mind, before she nods to herself, stripping naked before taking her search. It takes about twenty minutes to fix hair, cleanse body, paint nails, apply clothing, then jewels, a white dress adorned with golden jewels and trim, long enough to cover legs and bare feet beneath. She wraps a chain around her arm, ending in a glass orb that fits firmly within her palm, full of a black liquid that obscured a glowing spark within, never visible enough to fully see what it could be._ _

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__It takes a leisure five minutes of walking the morning's cold air, branch and leaf avoiding staining their Queen's dress, cool dew settling over her just enough to awaken and refresh her as she goes. The sound of crying breaks any calmness that could give, making Relya sigh as she moves to the edge of her trap, simply an obscured pitfall that finds itself trapped, prey locked within. A flick of her wrist undoes the lock, opening the child within to the sun that's filtered through the forest's canopy._ _

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__"What are you, ten?" She calls down to him, hands gripping the edge of the pitfall, leaning over. The child cowers in the corner, body folded up in the grip of skeletal hands, a firm but unharmed grasp over it. Eyes red from crying look up to the witch, widening as their seeking suddenly becomes even more of a reality, goal within sights, even if tongue is too twisted to express such things. That only makes Relya sigh, eyes closing. "Boy, take the rope I throw down." She give him coldly, but not cruelly, throwing down a hempen rope that falls to the ground with a clang, a metal hook at the end hitting the dirt floor. The skeleton releases the child, who falls forward from forgotten defiance at being held._ _

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__"Trust, I do understand the fear of such a being as myself." She says in her accented tones, a hint of amusement at the child's shaking. "Such perfection seems impossible, as does an animated structure of calcium not gutting your little..., what..." She gives the child a tilt of her head, the down-turned head making her sigh, "Entirely too short, form. You live in the nearby settlement, where the farming is weak and food scarce."_ _

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__The child looks up at that, wiping away tears and drying their hand on obviously worn clothing, joints and openings nearly bare to the thread. He simply nods, making Relya give a click of her tongue, "You have no offering as well, that does not bode well for your leaving. Note that my skeletons can be much smaller than the one you cuddled." She gives him a little tap to his head, the child flinching, falling back and shaking their head. "N-No! I have payment, just... Not with me, M-Ma'am... Animals, f-from the farm... T-Too big to c-carry here..." He reaches for his neck for a copper necklace, clumsily, shakily, pulling it from around his neck, offering the little item. "Can you bring her b-back...?"_ _

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__"Ah. I see." She says with a roll of her tongue, opening the item, and looking at the woman within. "She is very beautiful. If she has left our mortal plane, I cannot bring her back." She gives simply, looking at the redheaded woman, drawn with a smile, on her wedding day, from the dress and jewels. "An alternative, that means different, offering. Tell me how it happened." She gives the child an encouraging look with the locket's return, letting them fall into quiet, whimpering sobs as she takes a seat at the edge of the pit, pulling a small arrangement of dried fruits and meats from her bag._ _

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__"I-I don't know... Mom and Pa went to town one morning, t-took one horse..." The child starts, sheepishly taking the food after Relya's insistence, unable to ignore the glazed hunger in the child's eyes. "Came back, night after that one... Pa was quiet, b-but said they made a lot of dollars... Never said where Ma went, b-but was angry when I asked her. S-Said she's not comin' back..." He whimpers, Relya frowning as she looks over the child, "And I am to guess you are no longer allowed to travel into town?" She asks in a lightly saddened tone, the child nodding. "Understood. I will accept not the animals you offered for this favor, instead I will take another. Have you the ability to count, read, or farm the land your family has a right to?"_ _

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__"Ma... Ma was teaching me, I know a lil." He gives quietly, spirit drawn right out of his youthful mind, "Understood. I have a task for you. Do not resist the spell I am going to cast, understand." She tells it, the child looking fearful, but nodding. "Good. Here." She slips five dollars into his pocket, alongside an orb. "Enjoy yourself, do not return home until I say." She warns, before placing a hand to their face, purple seemingly coating her bones as magic channels into the child from her touch, a gasp coming from him, vanishing from the clearing, teleported to some destination of Relya's choosing._ _

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__There is a resounding boom as the pit closes and magically disguises, Relya laying back on its stone, hands running through her hair, eyes closing. "Drazhan? Come." She calls, a tear in the dimensions forming that produces a hound, black of fur and red of eyes. It's head lies on her neck, tucked in with a comfort. "You've not feasted as of late. Are you excited for a fresh meal?" She asks, a hungry reveal of teeth being the only response, a familiar buzzing of magic within them._ _

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__She lies until the sun goes down, the pitch black of night taking over, leaving her all too human eyes seeing nothing at all. "Devil's Sight." She sings to herself, eyes glowing with red a moment, enhancing her own natural red color, before it settles to only the shifting glyphs that are visible by those too close for their own safety._ _

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__"Star's Shield." She speaks once more, seeing red glowing under her white clothing, outlining a tattoo over her heart, a shimmer of ruby texture over her skin, before it sinks in, an invisible shield over her form. "Lady Night, let your wind carry our beauty. A swiftness that is only matched by my work's intensity." Her form transmutes to translucence, rising, then to a mist. It slides over wind as promised, a spectre in the darkness, eyes gifted by the Devil himself, able to glance over hunters and beasts that prowl blindly, unknowing of the witch's form._ _

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__It takes little time for her to be a hundred feet above a small farm, lantern sitting on the porch, illuminating a man smelling and looking of alcohol, smoking. His gaunt eyes stare into the flames, hands resting on a rifle, watching for _something _in the dark. She ignores him, moving into the home, until she finds a bedroom, a picture, her red hair, innocent brown eyes looking at Relya's red, beautiful face, staring at her own._ _ __

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__She stops before a mirror, looking to herself, pale skin even more so, red eyes sunken, a banshee's burning coals. Her hair streaks itself with white, dress replaced with an ethereal estimate of her form below, streaked with scars and open, bleeding wounds. Her waist leads into wisps of ghostly miasma, following inches behind as she flies, sneaks, from bedroom to parlor, looking through the screened door and to the man outside._ _

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_He is nervous._ She thinks to herself, seeing the bouncing of leg, checking of ammunition, cross around his neck. "Is that for me." Relya coos, phasing through the screen door, hand gently pushing through his back, resting in his stomach as it materializes. He only screams when he notices, flesh only tears when he moves, body tensed, gun firing, and blood spewing. "I can only imagine your disappointment, if it was. For future's reference. A cross does not stop a ghost, I wear one often." She laughs, letting him look into her eyes as she twists her hand, a echoing scream ringing out. 

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__"F-Fuck..." He gives weakly, chest heaving from a lack of material to flow blood and oxygen through, slumped forward as he fires another round through sheer twitching, this one going straight through the wood of the porch. "Poor aim." She says with a laugh, pushing him off of his chair, slumped forward in disgrace as she hovers above. His hand grasps for the cross, squeezing, praying. "Be a good boy and die, I do hope those prayers reach." She purrs at him, a gurgle of vomit and blood being his last words, before his body relaxes into what comes after._ _

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__Her hand slips effortlessly out of his back, clean of death's evidence as it takes an ethereal tone once more. The body lies in a growing pool of blood, no lacerations to prove a cause without a proper examination of the corpse. Relya hums contentment at her grim work, phasing through the screen door once more, slow motions taking her to the kitchen, hovering above the kitchen table. Her form's etherealness shudders, lowering until she's on the table properly, dress unfurling from nothing, conjured as the magic fades off. She swings her legs softly as she sighs, looking over the darkened room, producing a bag crafted of leather dyed black._ _

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__"A child does not drink alcohol." She says to the stars above, taking their glowing as an agreement and allowance, humming enjoyment at such things. She makes a methodical move through the home to absorb all bottles of spirits and wines and alcohol into her bag, which seem to disappear into nothingness once settled at the bottom of the leather._ _

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__The lesser of important tasks completed, Relya gives a soft. "Drazhan, clean up our guest." The world tears, wood splintering to the porch, large paws and growling teeth approaching the corpse, taking greedy, enjoying mouthfuls. Relya herself is busy with searching for any writing, then filtering through the boring bits, until she finds the writ that she sought out. Stuffed under a haphazardly nailed down floorboard, inside a letter is the evidence wanted._ _

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> __For purchase of 130 pounds of Swine Meat, John Harmon has received 75 dollars worth of bank notes, to be withdrawn at Silverhill Regional Bank._ _
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__It has no signing, but is notarized by a stamp of the town, signed by a John Harmon, and a deck of 75 bank notes. She retrieves the notes, unable to stifle the laugh that bitterly rises, knowing the absolute hassle such a volume of transactions would provide. She pockets them, hefting out the crate of hidden paperwork, placing on the dining table as she makes her way to the jars of preserved fruits, humming as she pops one open, letting herself feast as Drazhan does the same, still seen through the screen door._ _

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__By the time her jar is done, Drazhan is lying on his side, panting happiness at the utterly bare bones left in place. "Good boy." She gives as she squats down, appraising the bones, seeing little burn marks around the area she placed her hand, but nothing more of note. A quick process of methodically folding the bones into a neat pack, tied with twine, and into her own bag is all left, nodding at the dog. "A casual walk will do us both well." She hums, placing the crate of paperwork atop the bloody mess of a stain left, throwing her hair back slightly to get the rosary around her neck properly. Feet leave a trail of blood off of the porch, into the cobble trail, off of the main road, and into the forests that surround the little town, paddings of her large dog beside, clearly leaving a trademark of what exactly occurred here to those who care to know._ _

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	2. An Angel's Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samael, Cleric of the Divine Wall, makes her way to Wraith's Cross, a town assumed to be her destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small peek at the town and one of the more important characters within it <3\. Mostly an intro to Samael, but was intended to provide somewhat vague insight into the setting.

_"Wraith's Cross."_ Samael repeats in her mind, the name of her destination, now only a night and morning away. Silverhill was her last proper destination, nearly two days gone north, cold growing colder. Her unprepared outfit is only offset by a natural enhanced heat, priestly attire from her home not requiring lined furs like one would need so far north. 

That leads to her taking camp a bit earlier than most would, horse saddling off to the side, fed as she makes a camp in the remnants of a previous. Her shotgun is laid to the side, alongside various items she'd require once set in the church. "Our Shield, give me light." She calls, eyes closed and hands clasped together in prayer, a mighty flame taking the center of camp. She smiles happiness, 6'5 feet of human squatting to get their muscled form closer to the flames. 

She thinks on her claim to this church, the following of fate to bring her here. "The stars themselves will guide you." She hears, repeated from her dream nearly a week ago, then again from the old crone who brought news of this town's priest abandoning the people. Her eyes close as she thinks on the crone, ghostly pale skin, eyes of black, abnormally tall, and oddly graceful. "A celestial." She mumbles to herself, shaking her head as she reaches into her back, starting a slow process of settling her meal to cook, the scent of frying meats soon blessing the air itself. 

As it cooks, she works the day's grime and sweat from her dark brown skin, curled hair untangled from the constant movement that horse-riding brings. Sunbaked outer clothing is tossed away, leaving just a black vest and undershirt, concealing a metal plate meant to blunt impacts against their core and upper legs. She drapes herself in a light blanket after, letting the frigid air dry away what discomfort the heat of tight wrappings brought.

"Care to share a fire." She hears suddenly, meal nearly finished and the draw of sleep growing close to her. Her head turns, spotting the voice's cause, a man obscured by a cowboy's typical attire, topped with a tipped hat obviously meant to conceal a face. The sighting of three figures behind that one, hands resting on revolvers at their sides draws a frown. "I'd not mind, if that's all shared." She gives in a steady tone, eyes making a point to glance at all their weapons. 

"Of course, my lady." The figure says, heavy steps making their way to stand on the opposite side of the flame, closest to her horse. It neighs in anxiety, making Samael pay an extra layer of attention. "I am Lori, we are... lawmen, free of the government, hah." They say, taking their hat off, to reveal thinning hair, sallow flesh, and rotted teeth. Her eyes trail that, then the followers as they move closer to her horse, _Undead_ The horse sends it through their panicked connection. 

"Samael, do you recognize the name." She gives them, sitting taller, to display how tall she is, even sitting. One lies a hand on the horse, getting a throwing of the steed's head, knocking it over, "Religious, yeah?" Lori gives without care, making Samael nod, "Yeah. I am a holy woman, to give insight in how this'll go." 

It grins, hands raising out of their coat suddenly, clawed. It howls humor as it lunges over the fire, kicking cookware and coal as it throws itself at Samael. Her horse kicks out at the nearest entity, hearing a sickening _crack_ as it rips through clothing and skin to break bone with metal horseshoes. The remaining two draw guns, aiming for the wrestling cleric and undead. 

"Divine Shield, make them fear you." She growls up at the figure, an arm placed up to allow their rotted teeth to sink into, clothing stopping any piercing impact, but feeling bruising already. Divine light glows from her eyes, trailing down her face before an explosion of light ripples over the clearing.

The undead atop of her scowls as it crawls away on four legs, half of their gang sprinting away in sheer fear of god. Heaving annoyance at them remaining, Samael sits up, before tucking into a roll as guns are drawn by the two figures that remain. "The humor of eating a holy woman is a wonderful seasoning." The leader cackles, taking a shot that narrowly misses the tall woman, another two ringing out from the second figure, first missing. The second shreds the leg of her outfit, making her curse in pain as it slams against the metal plates meant for protection, denting it in and bruising. 

"Funny." She gives in a breathless tone, jumping forward at the leader, growling out a prayer as her fist lights with divine flame. Too slow to dodge, the undead takes the full impact against their chest, exploding rotted flesh and leather. Her fingers sink into the spongey flesh in her grasp, throwing him to the ground behind her, body twitching and struggling through the radiant energy's damage. 

Her moment of watching her labor's results earns another bullet shot at her, Samael crying out in pain as it pierces through unarmored flesh, through her lower leg and making her fall to it. "Moonlight, kick it!" She yells out in a tone that almost asks the horse what it's been doing all this time. Encouraged by the bite of annoyance, the horse gives out its best growl, ramming the remaining undead with their head, before opening its maw and taking a massive bite of their shoulder. It thrashes the creature as it screams in pain, bones breaking, flesh tearing until it lies in pieces through sheer trauma of its mauling. 

It falls in a lump at the ground, "Gather their guns. Thank you." Samael mumbles at the horse, falling back onto her butt, checking her bleeding wound. The horse does as commanded, gathering bodies and weapons, making a little pile by the fire itself. Samael in the meantime places her hands on the wounds, saying a silent prayer to the Divine Wall.

Her wound magically seals itself shut, first growing the meat of her leg back, layer and layer hooking together with a stitching pattern, until the skin clings together to view as if nothing has occurred. She stands with a wince of ghostly pain, eyes closing. "Well, Moonlight." The horse looks to Samael from the mention of her name, approaching to receive well earned pets. "I apologize, but I will be dragging their corpses behind you."

It takes about an hour to pack up their camp, Samael pushing through bits of exhaustion and cold as they wrap the bodies in a blanket, tying them to the horse, and redressing in her day's clothing. Comfort and subtlety is deemphasized with the fight, Samael donning their proper riding gear, long coat and chaps reinforced with thin metal plates and chainmail together. It is topped with a veil nearly entirely made of chainmail itself, tightening her mane of brown, curly hair. 

She rides through the night, until about midday, where fields and forest are replaced with shoddy farmlands, animals scattered about that curiously move to the gates to retrieve bits of feed that Samael throws to them. The few travelers she finds riding alongside or opposite of her keep their distance, drawn into discomfort by either her odd dress, or bleeding humanoid shapes dragged along. 

A nice warmth of the bare sun aids in offsetting the chilly air of the north, though it does draw hardship in Samael's attempts at seeing the commotion at the farmhouse ahead. A crowd of nearly a dozen figures gather at the porch of the home, four dressed as some defensive force, holding their guns casually. "None of our business?" Samael asks Moonlight, who gives a neigh of sleepiness, "You're right, you're right." The cleric hums, commanding the beast to make its way to the wire fence blocking the road of the home. As they come within visual distance of the crowd, Samael gives out a shrill whistle. 

"You are the lawmen of the town? I have four corpses with me, Human."

The smile she gives them is honestly beautiful, eyes nearly golden with the radiance that seems to radiate off of her, pure white teeth shining in the sunlight. That, of course, is offset by their confusion, guns warily readied in their hands as one gives a shouted, "Uh? Say that again?" By one, Samael riding a bit closer, "Oh, holy fuck..." One mutters, Samael giving a shake of her head, "I said I have four corpses of humanoids with me. Turned to ghouls, or rather a single ghast, three ghouls. They attacked me on the road, you all got an undead problem here?"

The figures blink at the words, one giving a quiet, "Ghast?" To another. One in particular, a tall figure, about 6 feet flat, with extremely pale skin and pure white eyes, a changeling, moves to the fence, hopping over with little effort. "We appreciate the aid. I'm going to guess you are our new priest?" They ask.

"I am, my name is Samael, feel free to call me Sam as well. I have no last name, but if it is required, you may call me something related to the Divine Wall, as that is my primary deity." She gives, the figure uncovering the corpses in that time, pulling one out, taking a seat on its chest. 

"Undead, that checks out. Ah, and hello, Samael. You may call me Ariel, changelings traditionally do not take last names." They explain, "No intense worship of deities. We have an issue with undead, yes. We have rumors of necromancers nearby, but the undead only come in contact with hunters, normally. Off the road. Zombies, skeletons. Occasional ghost." They speak, checking teeth, then the chest wound that Samael left, "Impressive. I'll have a reward settled for you, for clearing the roads."  
They smile up at Samael, who has moved off the horse by this time, conversation left to only those two, the rest of the lawmen called away to assist a doctor figure that is investigating the porch. "Most of that is worrying, Ariel." She gives, "Necromancers? Tell me more, if you could. And a reward would be nice. I like you thus far, I do hope you are not to cause that to change in some way."

"You are an odd one." Ariel mutters at Samael, giving a small laugh as they cover the corpse, "But yes. A rumor, some witch settled in the woods, dark rituals to craft undead and casting spells from some devil." They sigh, taking a deep drink from a skin at their waist's side. "Of course, it's always drunk hunters and restless kids who see her, hah. Still, superstitious folks dwell. Most years there is a big ol basket left for this alleged lady, an offering for no curses."

Samuel's face twists in thought, reaching forward and taking the wineskin from Ariel, making the changeling scoff under their breath as she drains it for a few seconds. "Ah, thank you for the drink." She gives, squeezing the side, the skin fattening with a replenishment of wine. Ariel nods a head at the usage of magic, tying the wineskin closed as Samael continues. "A charlatan, spectre, or witch. You are the law here, why have you not dealt with it." Her eyes glance to the home a moment after, "Too busy here?" 

Ariel does not get another word before Samael vaults the fence, boots digging into the wet mud. The crowd spreads as she makes her way forward, towards the large splotch of blood stained in the ground. "What happened here." She demands, to a massive uproaring of the crowd, sharing the same general idea, with their personal alterations and creativity mixed within.

"This witch seems mighty busy." She announces to the crowd, looking at the note, "And ominous, what an annoyance." She grumbles, before nodding to the crowd, "I will spend my night at the church, and will remain until noon. Come! Meet your town's new faith, I am blessed to serve you lovely people. After, I shall retrieve your lost family, and free you from Hell's blight." 

Her bright smile is met with reverent eyes, skin glowing softly with religious text around her neck, wrists, fingers, and palms. A cheer calls up from the crowd, Samael pocketing the note, turning to say a prayer over the bloody splotch on the porch. 

"Great Divine Wall, all that guards us from the legions of the Devil himself. Bring safety to the young child and his father. Guard their mother as she watches over their safety. Shield my mind and soul from the Devil's puppet, keep me pure and as intended." 

The crowd falls silent through her prayer, many hands and minds joining her in a silent sermon behind her larger aura, both physical and spiritual. She leaves with a whistle and a tip of her head to Ariel, riding off into town. The occasional figure gives a nod or wave as she rides through, but most simply stare, enthralled by herself first, then shocked by the dragged bundle behind her steed. 

Her journey ends where she was directed, a simple church, lacking much beauty or upkeep, the bare minimum that was clearly not handled with love. The sun shines through the holes in the roof and siding, small puddles of moisture sitting on wood within. The scent of wet dust lies heavy in the air, the church long stripped down to bare necessities by the town, not rich enough to leave a building intact for the year it has been abandoned.

Anything that was small enough to be carried, was. The quarters meant for priestly figures fully empty, Samael sighing softly as she places her bags within, steed left roaming freely about the church's ground. "Home. I hope you are proud." She speaks to the stale wood, stripping away armor until she's in her simple priestly garb, taking a seat on the ground to clean her armor.

All nightly rituals, scrubbing armor, a bath, meal, and prayer take nearly three hours, letting her rest in the chilly night air, moonlight filtering over her face as she watches the dripping of precipitation from the roof. "Tomorrow." She speaks to herself, letting her eyes close, lulling into blank rest. 

It is a half day that finds her in the woods, empty church silently hurting her soul before she donned armor and weapon, intending to find her witch. Golden brown eyes roam the forest's lush ground and plant life, not seeming blighted as she has been taught. "Humanity's evil lurks behind a veil of civility." She reminds herself, shaking her head as she draws her chain veil down, conscious of the thick forest that could be hiding the Devil's creature. 

A crack of a tree's branch beside her head draws out of prayer, Samael spinning to face the intrusion, shotgun quickly in hand. Standing only a handful of feet away is a sadly familiar sight, pale skin, sunken eyes, and a ghoul's revolver pointed back at her. It snarls, eyes glowing a golden coloration for only a moment, before it scattered into a thousand pieces, shotgun screaming a bullet into the undead's face, painting the seemingly peaceful forest with their hellish interior. "Divine Wall. Keep their energy from returning." She growls as it falls, giving a hard stomp at its heart, collapsing the skin, bone, and insides alike before continuing their path towards a destination Samael is confident God has placed before them.


	3. Zone of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samael and Relya meet for the first time, to much tension on the Cleric's side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fun chapter to write, if a little hard with my lack of experience writing dialogue back and forth like this :<

The brambles seem to supernaturally tangle as Samael draws closer and closer to the unseen stone structure, the woods casually clothing alternate paths, subtly guiding her towards her destination. "Dreadful trees... Cease!" She warns the air, blasting a small explosion of divine flame at the assortment of vine and grass tangling her boot when it does not crawl away. "Very well. Continue your devilish ways. It will only cause more suffering for your manipulator's soul." She huffs, continuing on her way, occasionally offering a divine strike, punishing the audacity of the forest itself.

Sleepwear is shed within the witch's home, magic applied over skin to cleanse and purify, making it shine with an alluring beauty, like a moon's divine glow. A fine black dress that dips to reveal the chest's apex is applied, enough to display the tattoos that line over that area. Bare arms and shoulders do much of the same, hair dressed with little baubles of gold and silver to add a wild but somehow regal beauty to Relya. 

It takes little time for the loud, angry footsteps to reach the front of Relya's home, a single loud pounding hitting against the door. "Open! I have come to be your end!" Samael yells through, walking back two steps, drawing their shotgun. 

"Moe. Greet." The witch whispers to her room, a cloak floating over to the door, taking an uncomfortable amount of struggle for the weak cloth to push the door open. Samael growls as she sees it float out, birds clearing away from the area as two loud bangs fill the air, cloak falling to the ground as the cloth tears with buckshot into tatters. 

"Quite rude!" Relya yells through the door, a rattle of bone moving to stand just behind the door, just in case. "That cloak was worth much more than your own outfit. Be civil." She adds, making a point to huff loudly, applying her magical cloaking of armor, sensing this woman's tendancy to shoot first. 

"Perhaps so! And yet it is dead, reveal yourself and face the song scripture of your end's arrival." Samael adds with a smug sense of confidence, cracking open their shotgun, reloading both barrels, making a point to crack it back into functionality as loudly as possible.  
"Adorable. I prefer an active conversation before shooting." Relya gives back, the door swinging open, Relya positioned a near two dozen feet within, attempting to look casual behind a thick table. "Ah, I heard you were quite the sight. Very true." 

The cleric ignores the smirk Relya gives, instead looking over the unholy sight before her, noting the clothing meant to seduce, confidence meant to unsettle, and magic meant to intimidate. "Your dramatics do not impress or dissuade me." She raises her shotgun as if in warning, a large, skeletal form stepping between. "Your beasts even less. You are allowed time to repent for the murders you have caused. As well as the audacity to slow my travel upon this land with your hellish creatures." Shs spits, Relya watching the trail of saliva as it hits the floor, searing it softly with a radiant energy.

"Even if you are not impressed by myself, I do find myself interested in you." Relya gives, adjusting her dress a bit, revealing more tattooed flesh upon her chest, gauging the lack of reaction with a huff. "Though dreadfully boring. It has been quite the time since an attractive agent of a god arrived, I was hoping to share tea and tale." She smiles, a little teapot waddling into sight, steaming softly from its spout. "But yes, yes. Dramatics first. A want of my kneeling, pleading form. What murders do you speak of, specifically, if you could." 

The shotgun trails as Relya takes her seat behind the table, hands resting flat upon the surface, Samael clutching the barrels of her shotgun, causing it to glow as she moves closer to the doorway itself. "At the farmhouse. Father and child and mother. And the ghouls. They attacked me upon the road. Easily dispatched, I am impressive, but annoying and dangerous." The light opens the inside of the home, revealing an area cleaned by animated items, that seem to quiver with nervousness at the tense situation. 

"I take pride in my murders, but sadly I can only have a belly of satisfaction for one. I killed the father." She shrugs softly, "The child I have taken to another city as I ruined the father. The mother..." She frowns, Samael squinting, "Do not continue. I will ensure your tongue is godly."  
That causes a laugh to radiate from Relya, pale face filling with a blushing red, "Gods, you are..." She starts, before just laughing once more. Her eyes trail over Samael's face and weapon, then finally arms. "Ah, you must be hungry. Fuel for all those muscles you carry. Do your spell, one to check poison as well, assuming your anxiety is far reaching." 

That itself carries a throaty sort of purr, Samael's spine tensing in disgust at that. "Foul. I'll not have your meals tainted by sin." She replies with a verbal bite, opening a small vial at her side, pouring silver upon the ground. "Come to me. The circle will rest upon us. Even evil can have a trial before destruction." "Lovely, my thanks." Relya speaks, staring into the barrels, noting the etchings within them, though too dark and small to see from a distance. 

"I carry no fear of God's truth. I will submit to examination as well." Samael explains as she remains within the circle, the silver quivering to form a larger radius for both to easily fit. "God, illuminate our purity. Cleanse us in your light." Samael says with a deepening of their already deep voice, a gravel tone hitting the air that soaks it with magic. The circle glows a divine energy as scripture once more overtakes Samael's arms and throat, buzzing the air as Relya whistles. 

"Magic and a wagon of flesh. Some truly are born with blessing. Cute hair as well." She observes, moving within the circle, Samael sensing the submission of the witch to the spell. "I've not murdered the husband's child or wife. I murdered the husband, as he sold the mother for a fistful of dollars. The son is safe, learning letters in Silverhill." Relya speaks as she enters the circle, a hand extending forward to lie on the side of Samael's arm.  
The cleric seems to either not care or notice, shotgun casually pointing at the witch still, "I see." She mutters, "Vigilantism is not accepted in these lands, or in the eyes of my god." She gives back, "And I heavily dislike and distrust you. And yet, my god does not lie. The ghouls." She demands, Relya scoffing. "Ah, I am Relya. And your name, cleric of impressive stature and presence?" Samael does not respond, instead shoving the shotgun into Relya's chest insistently, eyes glaring at the tattoos. "Sinful eyes, hah. But the ghouls are not mine. Flesh, undead flesh, makes my stomach churn. I prefer things of bone." Her hand squeezes Samael's arm slightly, feeling the intense muscle, before pulled away by a shove of it.

"Samael. Named for an angel." Samael mutters, before lowering the gun. "I will not bring you to your hells until you give reason. I will pray for you, and I suggest you come within my church and pray for your own soul." The cleric gives, making Relya smile, "Do pray for me, Samael..." She purrs, "Allow my newfound life, given by your mercy, to have value." 

She takes a step closer, giving a small tap of a knuckle against the larger woman's chest, eye level for the comparatively tiny witch. "Good. Even if said in jest, I know there is a yearning of goodness within all. Rest within your hellish abode. I will rescue the mother." She turns away, only to feel the chain of her veil grabbed, growling as she turns to burn anger into the witch. 

"Hush your anger. There are many in the grouping that purchased this woman. Do not find yourself killed, it would be a sadness to have a disgusting cleric in that town once more. I enjoy glancing upon you." She smiles, Samael squeezing Relya's hand off of her veil, "Silence your skin crawling attempts at seduction. I have no..." She falters, eyes closing to roll their annoyance. "I will not offer sin to you. Make yourself useful for this task, or allow my leave unmolested." 

Relya smiles a silent enjoyment of the faltering, giving a nod, "Come within my home, it has no harm for you without provocation." She says, still within the circle. "It will be quite the information, and I'd suggest a seat as you digest." Relya walks within the home, Samael sighing, praying to her god as she follows, wiping her hands of a light misting of sweat.


	4. Familiarization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their meeting, Samael leaves Relya's home to travel back into Wraith's Cross. There, she makes preparation to make her fateful trip into Silverhill, speaking to the sheriff, Ariel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expanding Ariel and Samael's characters, as well as hinting at future concepts. TY for reading <3

The crunching of fallen leaves stifles the sound of Samael's yawning and sleepy grumbling, "Two hours, such a horrid orator." She grumbles, belly and body sluggish movements from a massive meal of meats and chilled fruit. The three glasses of wine hardly help, eyes closed softly as she recalls the information Relya gave with reluctance. "Yellow building, The Golden Ascension, gaudy. A dozen and half, leader being a dwarf. Sinful palace of overindulgence, sex and drug and... sin." She makes her disgusted noise, shaking her head, "Woman, fourth decade. Red hair, brown eyes. Short, even for these short humans. Strong of arm, light scarring to face." 

Lost in thought, she finds her horse, taking a moment to wipe her face and hands of sweat, stretching her muscles of the meal's sleepiness, requiring so much food for her body's strength and size. She finds the main roadway of Wraith's Cross shortly before nightfall, eyes trailing over the candlelight of various homes, hearing the music and chatter of the main road's bar, and sharing glances with interested lawmen that clearly received rumors of the large cleric making home here now.

Samael pushes the door open without a warning, the lawmen within their headquarters turning to face her with a sudden worry. "I am here to speak to Ariel." She says to the dozen or so figures within, giving a wave of her hand, dismissive. "Continue your work. You have done well, I've seen little crime since I have arrived, hold your heads high." There is a silence as the hall listens, a few confused looks joining those who watch with blushing awe. "Harm anyone innocent, or fall into unjust sin, and you will face the reasoning behind my name." She turns her nose up at them, a glowing silver and gold swimming in her eyes. 

"Uh. As you were." Cuts through tense confusion, all of Ariel's allies broken out of a trance as they speak, popping a head out of their office to lock eyes with Samael. "I'll take a meeting, now." They say, giving Samael a nod, the Cleric smiling, heavy boots thunking on wood as she makes her way to the changeling's office. 

"Such an impression you make, hah." Ariel speaks, dressed in dusty garb and tired looks. The room is a mess of paperwork and attempts at comfort, a meal set before Ariel's chair, abandoned in pursuit of two glasses that fill with amber alcohol. "My thanks, it has been a cold ride." Samael speaks, taking the glass as she sits, ratty chair creaking under her heavy weight. 

"I intend to pursue a lead I have come across. Regarding the family that has recently disappeared. The wife has a possibility to be alive and in danger. I wish to save her." She speaks sternly, back straight and oozing an air of confident determination. 

"Uhh, alright? Missing woman, in danger, I'm guessing?" Ariel asks, their hand moving to a drawer, pulling out a notepad and pen, "We can have this resolved, tell me about your issues here." They give a nervous look, Samael clearly sensing the anxiety she gives off, internally basking in the unsettled aura she expands to the mortals of the town.

It takes an hour and a half to retell the story, Samael finding herself omitting information on source, stern when pressed. "You are a good lawman, a rarity in most places. Corruption and disgusting energy is such a common thing." Samael speaks, pouring herself a fourth glass of alcohol. "You are a good one, it seems." She gives them a smile, chain veil placed away for large tufts of curly hair to frame her face, "I rejoice that I do not need to have you replaced to bring purity to this land." 

Her eyes trail Ariel's face as the changeling gives a kind smile. "I do appreciate, this town is kinda... fucked, hah. But I'm tryin." Samael gives them a glare at their crude language, making Ariel nod, "Apologies. Town is bad, werewolves for a while, undead, wildlife and plantlife are odd. Haunted mine, there is this tower that appears when its misty, hah." They swallow after their own glass is emptied, "Fix one thing, another peeks up. It's fun." 

"Your job is to protect those who cannot protect themselves." Samael assures them, before reaching a bare hand forward, wordlessly places it upon their cheek, squeezing softly. "And if I happen to noy return with this woman, you are the only protection this town has. A farmhand's aim is not meant for the Devil's evil. Do not force my resurrection by abandoning these citizens to a fate not meant for themselves." 

She leaves with a sudden swiftness after that, eyes burning softly as she closes them, a day of heavy food and alcohol even affecting her divine form. A night's cool air sobers her mind as she makes her way to her church, horse roaming about as she strips to bare essentials.  
"Infernal woman." She mutters after a workout, sweat cooling in the night's breeze, chest heaving as it is exposed to the night air. "A kind changeling, Ariel. I like them." She speaks as she throws on a shirt, moving outside to lay on the wood of the church's front. "Relya... Useful, but dangerous. Lustful, ridiculous. Full of fluffed words." She rolls her tongue of that woman's energy, hands filtering through her hair to let it splay out above her head. 

Her rambling grows more inane as she stares up at the stars, seeing the designs of her deity, a shield, within them. She speaks to it in a casual prayer, until dreams finally come for her. The dreams filter through her travels here, training in her home's covenant, training with weapons, and finally settle upon the forest witch. Samael plays witness to Relya's pretty face as she speaks to an unknown entity, hands on her hips as she smiles and taunts and bullies her way through some transaction. As she spies upon Relya in her dream, an unseen, horned entity spies on Samael's sleeping, yellow eyes watching as she tosses and turns in her sleep, giving little annoyed noises of discomfort as she silently complains at Relya's mindset within this dream's scenario.


	5. Housekeeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even more plot scaling :>. Relya's mindset after her encounter with Samael previously, as well as observation of more intruders in her forests.

Relya's arcane manifestation travels over the forest as she rests herself near her home, eyes closed as a skeleton tends to her garden, another feeding her pickled snacks as she lounges. The arcane eye invisibly floats over tree and dirt, searching. The glowing behind Relya's closed lids processes the information found, animal and bug seen but ignored, wanting to rather investigate the larger interruption to her domain. 

Two humans walk shrouded in thick, leather cloaks, faces covered in wooden masks shaped to resemble a goat's visage. Between them, they heft a dissected handcart, wheels removed to not tangle in the bramble that their boots struggle in. The cart carries a set of tightly tied burlap sacks, bulged with the material within. The two figures travel deeper into the forest's heart, Relya growling an annoyed song as she sees them tread closer and closer. "Not... Ah, not worth my effort..." She purrs at herself, rolling onto her side to stretch much like a cat, not stopping her magic spying. 

The figures end their journey suddenly, without an indication of their intentions, other than a sudden tipping of the cart, dumping the contents to the ground. The right figure, slightly taller than the left, raises a hand, weaving arcane symbols in the air, a muddy brown glow forming around, before conjuring a waterfall of mud, dumping about ten gallons, before they begin to walk away, a direction perpendicular to Spirit's Cross.

"Hm. Go investigate." Relya speaks with a frown, sitting up with her hands resting on her legs, "Bring them back as well, take..." She hums, looking at the massive, four armed skeleton she speaks to, "Yourself, and the small one. You two will do well." She snaps, the skeletons unable to disobey if they wished, disappearing into the brambles as she lies down again, another skeleton taking the place of her servant. 

"Life was peaceful, hah." She grumbles to herself, curling up in a comfortable ball, a blanket placed over her form as she purrs a comfy tone in her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
